


Work in Progress

by TooTiredToJoinTheRevolution



Category: Original Work
Genre: Family, Family Drama, Gen, Trans, Trans Character, Trans Non Binary, Transition, non binary, top surgery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-01 02:05:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooTiredToJoinTheRevolution/pseuds/TooTiredToJoinTheRevolution
Summary: Through logs, thoughts and poems, this is the story of me and my transition. I hope to express my pain and my hopes. I hope to, soon, be free.





	1. Log #1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Myself](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myself/gifts).



22nd of August 2018 

My mother seethes with the desire for me not to alter my body. Top surgery seems so far and such a painful thing to reach. I wonder whether it will be worth it.   
The reality is I think it might be what I need to feel better, to feel finally connected to my body, be one with my mind and soul. But fear, for now, is stronger. And, as it is, my mothers fears are not helping. 

I yearn for freedom from this cage and I believe this to be one of those moments where I'm suffering far more than what I allow myself to be aware of. The lump in my throat is suffocating me. I feel anxious at the thought of moving. I haven't been crying enough lately, but don't know how to make it better.


	2. Log #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking about the future.

I've just looked through some really old pictures of myself, that as always, have showed me the extent to which my dysphoria, even when not acknowledged, affected me.  
See, there are some warning signs here and there, throughout my childhood, that in context make a lot more sense. But never enough, or never drastic enough to worry anyone really. 

In elementary school I did not know my place, but I was confident, and I found it, right in the middle. I, in my small existence, found I enjoyed both extremes of the gender binary and the roles attached to them. I hung out both with the girls and the boys, I was considered a little gross by one side, a little too put together on the other, and enjoyed being one of the boys, or being the tomboy out of the girls, and liking video games as much as gossiping, and insects as much as dancing. That, out of context, could be the story of any cis person. But with me, it's just another part of the puzzle. 

Be warned, I have no photographic evidence to document these times, and that's lucky for me. I had the most abhorrent sense of style. Greasy hair, crocs, stained red sweatpants and any old print t-shirt. It was like an early puberty. I was a disgusting little kid. But kind, and always very unique. 

In middle school, that's when things started to get real. I don't remember middle school as a bad time in my life, mostly because I feel like I was my most authentic self. I was colourful, creative and bubbly. I thrived at the centre of the attention, loved shocking and surprising people, and I always tried to be kind. I again, felt in the middle between the boys and the girls, but gravitated toward the feminine side because boys became rude, overly sexual and pretty much, I must say, disgusting. Thirteen year old boys just tend to be like that. It's the testosterone, but without the brains.  
However, I came to the realisations that being different was sometimes complicated, that privilege was a thing and that it was not a granted, and that my expression, as well as my simple existence, made me a sexual target for many people. Mostly older men in the streets, but I was subject to sexualisation also by my (female) teachers. 

Queerness began to enter my conscious brain at the age of 13. I was fast to accept it. Not only did it not bother me, but I actually liked it. Having a queer identity felt liberating and true, and made so much sense for me.

At 14 years old, I'd already integrated in my identity the label of bisexual. I wore it proudly, I felt like it made me stand out. It wasn't long until I experienced discrimination as a queer individual. I was shamed, made out to be a special snowflake by a boy I had a crush on. It was a rather shaking experience, but I needed it. The first blow that was followed by many more. I began learning how to shield myself from that kind of oppressive behaviour. I became stronger, learned how to take pride in spite of what people thought. I was fierce. 

At 14 was also the first time I remember experiencing gender euphoria. I was taking pictures on my old computer camera and flipped my hair from one side to the other, so it looked shorter. I threw on a hoodie and was hit by the most amazing feeling. I looked so incredibly cool! Androgyny looked so incredibly on me. I remember posting it to Facebook and expressing how I looked like an "androgynous emo boy who wears make-up". I was so thrilled. For many months after that I kept looking back on those photos and loving what I saw. 

At this time I began having issues with my body. I would constantly compare myself to other girls, how they didn't have as many curves as me, how tall they were and how thin their legs were. I luckily never fell into unhealthy eating habits, but I did self-harm, and my mindset was quite unhealthy. I realise now I wanted a thin body so it would make me look less feminine. No boys' thighs are that thick. 

15, I think, was my worst. Social interaction was terrible, body image was terrible. I still self harmed. I began being extremely confused about my gender. I drew chest hair on myself and sent a picture to a friend. She expressed that it made her uncomfortable and I felt embarrassed to the point where I could do nothing but ignore it. For the following year or so, I was as feminine as I'd ever been. Except for one small incident where I found a pair of my brother's jeans that made me look like a boy, I tried to be as feminine as possible. 

At 16 I dyed my hair green because I wanted to be like all those pretty girls on Instagram. But it soon turned out to be terrible. My hair began feeling like a wig, like something I wanted to rip off. I gave it the name of hair dysphoria, but I was still way too far to even loosely identify with not being cis. Looking in the mirror was a dissociative experience. I hated how I looked and felt so blue to the point of crying every time I saw myself. I was portraying one of the cool girls on Instagram. I was so far from my own self it felt like nothing made much sense. I remember it being sudden. I was like something that had been in the bottom of my mind suddenly splashed onto the shore of my consciousness and told me: this needs to stop. 

On August 2016, I shaved my head. To this day I still believe it to be one of the best days of my life. And by far the best choice I could have made in that moment. Although people expressed disappointment, didn't like or preferred how I looked before that, I felt incredible. I was giddy on that feeling for months. From that moment on I never let my hair grow out ever again. The thought, at least for now, makes my skin crawl. 

Then came the issue with my chest. I realised very later on in my puberty just how much I wasn't okay with my chest, or at least, the size of it. When I began developing breasts, I almost immediately didn't like the look of them, and my misplaced hopes were that they would grow to become more shapely, with smaller nipples and firmer tissue. So, I thought for the time being, that was why I felt so uncomfortable wearing a bra. 

I distinctly remember at the beginning of my third year of high school, talking about bra sizes with my "big chested" friend, suddenly realising that my breasts were considerably larger than hers. The realisation scared me. It confused me. I had now idea how it had happened. I'd buried everything underneath large hoodies and the hope that I was going to change. That eventually I was going to like them. And it wasn't ever about having ugly or nice looking tits. It was about the disconnect I felt when looking at them. It was such a strong feeling, that I ignored the existence of my chest for years. The discovery came with a gigantic wave of dread and confusion. I was distraught. 

But again, too small to understand the extent of my feelings, perhaps too scared or not aware enough, I promised myself that I simply preferred a smaller chest. That was what I wanted, really. That was all I wanted. 

For now I will stop here with my timeline. Before my life took a turn that complicated things even further. Before I was forced in a closet I never wanted to even get close to. Before my identity and self-discovery seemingly got shadowed by a circumstance nobody, except perhaps me, would have anticipated. Before it got messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt the need to write down a timeline, say a life story, in order to clean up my thoughts, and maybe even "prove" to myself how trans I really am. It's not right, I shouldn't do it. But self-discovery sometimes means deep self-analysis. Sometimes I must even doubt my identity. It is my way of consistently confirm that this is not product of my fantasies or influences, but that this is me, and exactly how I've always been. 
> 
> It's clumsy, right? I hope this might help me in the future, to have written this. Either to discover more about my past, or to present to a therapist should I find gatekeeping along the way.


	3. Log #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About changing.

This is going to be short, because it's late and I need to sleep. I recently deleted all of my social media apps from my phone, and have been feeling very anxious during the last few days. I initially thought it was the after shock of going cold turkey, the equivalent of shivering and cold sweats after quitting drugs. But I'm starting to realise now that it might be something else entirely. Though maybe it was born or started in relation to me deleting my social media, I think it has morphed into something else, and I'll definitely need to talk about it to my therapist, and figure things out with her, but for now I'm interpreting it as this overwhelming need to, again, change. I need to change if I want to be serene and happy with myself at least for the time being. I need to change the way I think and relate to other people. I need to stop caring so desperately about impressing people I couldn't care less about, stop trying so hard to please or be liked by everyone while trying at the same time to be authentically myself. Perhaps delete my instagram or make myself less visible on social media may help me control what image other people see. It stresses me out a lot that people can understand or know everything about me just by looking at my social media, which is exactly the reason why I've decided to (i think) fix my account and privatise almost everything, unfollow a bunch of peeps, and have separate accounts for famous ppl and tattooers that i need to keep an eye on, and close friends. I needed to write this down to figure my thoughts out, but that's the gist of it. I need to stop worrying. I want people to only know me because they know me. that's all.


	4. La vuelta a la tortilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something special that I had been waiting for happened.

For months now I've kept quiet about my desire to transition for the sake of my mother. But today, very carefully, I spoke about it. I found an article on the table about a girl identifying as a trans man in her adolescence, but finally realising that that wasn't right for her when she grew up. It was quite a terf-y article that received a lot of criticism from academics and trans activists, but there was some truth to it. I asked mum what she thought about the article today and took my chance to talk about myself, how I think that it's a possibility but that I'm being critical about my own identity and desire to transition. I told her that I believe people should give themselves a lot of time and a lot of therapy (both regular therapy and gender therapy) before deciding to transition and take things slowly if they're not completely sure.   
She agreed with me.   
I told her I don't want to be trans necessarily, just that I want to be happy and satisfied and fulfilled, and if transition is the answer, why not take it? She agreed with me.   
I left a lot of space for doubt and told her that transition isn't necessarily irreversible, that having the help of therapists and taking it slow helps a lot, and that I'm an extremely careful and rational person. Were I to change my mind or get scared or too rushed, I would immediately stop and evaluate my doubts.   
I told her what I want is happiness. She agreed.   
As I was walking away feeling awkward, she said "I still think you shouldn't take hormones". I went back to my place and we talked some more. She said she's okay with anything as long as I'm happy, but that she simply thinks hormones are unnecessary. That I can identify however I want and I don't need hormones. I told her that it's fine, and that I'm waiting for my sake and hers, and that whatever I do I'll be 100% sure about my choice.   
I told her I understood her "old-fashioned" point of view, and she told me that I have to find my path.   
I said that I don't want to feel guilty. She asked why I felt guilty. I told her that it's because she doesn't want me to transition. She said that I needn't feel guilty about it and we hugged.   
I'm feeling emotional and a little embarrassed but ecstatic about this new chapter of my coming out process. I feel tense but now know that I'll feel safer, that when mum will see the real me, she will know that I chose the right path.   
This is a special day.


End file.
